


"The verse ain't big enough for so many Winchesters." (a.k.a., Destiny Can Bite My Pee-Goo)

by Zanne



Series: John Winchester/Illyria 'verse [15]
Category: Angel: the Series, Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Illyria finally have to deal with the Demon that destroyed his family. Will they be able to save John's descendants from the Demon's wrath?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to hakirby and lyonie17 for their continued beta-ing prowess. Hakirby is entirely responsible for all the added porn and lyonie17 is responsible for turning my modern-day English into Fireflyese. The Chinese translations are up for grabs. I trusted various websites to get those. Kripke owns the Winchesters and Whedon owns both Illyria and Firefly.

The three dusty figures stood sheltered in the shadows of the small, dilapidated buildings curtaining the ports, ignoring the throaty calls of the dockworkers and the occasional hurried glances of the bustling passerby. Peering from beneath the brim of his battered cowboy hat, John’s eyes swept over the petite red-head sitting in front of the weather-beaten Firefly. Her pale skin was carefully shaded from the full weight of the Persephone sun with the aid of a torn parasol, while a lithe brown-haired sprite danced behind her, spinning wildly in the sunshine.

Pulling the head of the vampire back with a distracted tug, John ran the edge of his bowie knife over the creature’s throat, not even bothering to look at the thing as thin lines of sluggish blood oozed from the shallow cuts.

“Are you sure?” John demanded, yanking firmly on the creature’s greasy hair, making a few of the deeper wounds gape open and leak a little more enthusiastically.

The vampire whimpered, jerking his chin in the general direction of the Firefly and away from the blade, stating with conviction, “That one! The scent led me here!  _Tyen shiao duh_!” He drooled pathetically through his multiple layers of teeth, his fear forcing them out and making him look like a landed lamprey.

Illyria blinked once at the women, her bold blue eyes burning from the shadows of the alley as she took in the lively scene between them and their destination, before saying with a small shrug, “If you insist.”

John shoved the vampire in Illyria’s direction, all of his focus still on the distant ship, and the creature sniveled, “You said you’d let me go if I found ‘em!”

John tucked his knife away under his coat, his eyes still trained on the women across the port. “I _did_ just let you go,” he explained mildly, his duster falling dramatically around his bulky frame, making him appear somehow larger and more threatening even in his distraction.

The vampire sighed in relief, turning to run when Illyria’s hand clamped around his neck.

“I just caught you again.” Illyria blinked steadily at the wriggling creature who had begun to make annoying whining noises as he pleaded for his life. She cocked her head in John’s direction, frustration at the delay coloring her tone as she politely worded her demand as a request, “May I kill him now?”

John nodded absently, his hand still caressing the hilt of his knife as Illyria sliced through the creature’s neck without a moment’s delay, muttering loudly about the quality of demonic half-breeds in this century. The vampire’s head dropped into the dirt and rolled under a dumpster, where she efficiently deposited the body before gliding up to stand beside her Guide.

Illyria slid her sunglasses over her eyes, her skin darkening as the blue receded from her hair, leaving a dusty beige reflection of her former ice-white skin. “C’mon, John,” Fred demanded, holding out her slim hand to grasp his much larger one. “Let’s go meet the nice people.”

John nodded in agreement, reaching up a hand to tenderly wipe a spatter of blood off her cheek, his dimples flashing coyly before John and Fred emerged into the sunshine.

                                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaylee sat humming in her lounge chair, absently twirling her parasol so that the sun struck her face in random patterns as it slipped through the holes in the thin paper, calling out occasional greetings and enticements to board. She kept her ears open for the sound of River’s feet gracefully tripping across the ramp, adding a soft metallic undertone to her humming. A shadow fell over her and she shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun overhead as she gazed up hopefully into the faces of the two prospective passengers.

“How ya doin’, ma’am?” the attractive older gentleman asked, tugging briefly on the front brim of his hat. He was old enough to be her daddy, with a little bit of gray touching his temples and peppering his nearly black stubble, but something in his soft hazel eyes made her smile, a hint of a flush coloring her cheeks. “We were wonderin’ if you were takin’ passengers on your fine ship.”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded, grinning excitedly. “ _Serenity_ is the finest ship afloat, even if I do say so myself.”

“It’ll be lucky if it makes it past atmo without losing the shield plating,” the brown-haired woman beside him commented, her face tilting up towards the age-scarred hull before drifting down to meet the piercing gaze of the small brunette suddenly standing still on the ramp. The man elbowed her sharply in the ribs and she looked at him balefully before plastering on a smile and chirping, “But it’s a mighty pretty ship, isn’t it?”

John struggled to keep from rolling his eyes as he upped the wattage on his smile, pouring on the infamous Winchester charm. “My name’s John Winchester, and this is my wife Fred. We’d like transport to wherever you might be goin’.”

Kaylee beamed at him, her bright smile dimming as her eyes swept to the woman beside him. “Name’s Kaylee and that there’s River,” she said, waving her hand at the girl behind her. “You’re just in time – Cap’n’ll be back soon. We’d be glad to have you on board!” She stood up, carefully folding her parasol as John scooped up the chair for her. She smiled in thanks, excitement putting a bounce in her step. “Follow me and I’ll show you to your quarters.”

John grabbed at Fred’s hand, keeping her tethered at his side as they followed Kaylee up the plank. River stretched out a hand as they passed, brushing her fingers over Fred’s brown tresses as they fluttered in the breeze. “Such a pretty blue,” she murmured softly. “I would never hide it.”

Fred nodded curtly when their eyes met, paying homage to the Seer as she and John disappeared into the cold gray belly of _Serenity_.

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As _Serenity_ lifted off, John and Illyria remained in their room, unpacking the few items they carried with them. John whistled absently as he stuffed a knife under the mattress, Illyria leaning casually against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. “I have not seen you this…happy since the troll uprising on that outer moon of Athens over three hundred years ago.”

“Ahhh, yes,” John purred, stalking closer, his eyes growing heated. “The bloodshed gave you such a pretty pink glow, m’dear.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up and carting her towards the bed, Illyria’s lips twitching with amusement.

“Am I to look forward to more of this unusual behavior for the duration of our trip?” Illyria asked, arching a delicate eyebrow as he buried his face in her throat with a playful growl. “Should I try an exorcism before things progress?”

“It’s family, Illyria. We’re finally _home_.” He drew his head back, elation lightening his features. “Let’s enjoy it for the little while they have left.”   



	2. Chapter 2

Later that evening, John and Fred made their way to the dining area, pausing in the doorway as the sea of faces turned as one in their direction.

“Mr. Winchester!” Kaylee called out gaily, adding as a subdued afterthought, “…and Mrs. Winchester.” She turned to the rest of the table, explaining, “These here are the folks that signed up for transport on Persephone.”

Mal smirked in John’s general direction. “Came by for payment a bit earlier, but you folks were a might…busy.” Jayne guffawed loosely, shoveling in a forkful of protein as Zoe gazed in open assessment at the newcomers.

“Shush, Cap’n!” Kaylee hissed, throwing a balled up napkin at him. “Manners!”

“Our apologies for being late,” John replied politely, pulling out a chair for Fred before sitting beside her.

“So what does a man like you do for a livin’?” Mal asked, flicking his gaze towards Zoe to see if she noticed what he had - the way the man’s eyes gauged the distance to the exits, how he’d immediately spotted the weapons they all had secreted on their persons, the way his chair was pushed just far enough away from the table so that he could get to his feet without hindrance. With a subtle nod, Zoe agreed with his evaluation, shifting her chair so that her gun was within easy reach.

John noted their understated tension and slouched back harmlessly in his seat, reaching over to grasp Fred’s hand and to play with her fingers, his dominant hand now rendered useless for fighting. Both Mal and Zoe relaxed only slightly as he explained, “Odd jobs. Fred and I like to travel and we find work as needed.”

“Fred?” Jayne snorted derisively, talking with his mouth full.

“Jayne has a girl’s name and you have a boy’s name,” River said, smiling with an odd knowing expression in her eyes. “Maybe you should switch.”

Fred nodded absently, scooping some protein onto her plate as she retrieved her hand from John’s grasp to grab a fork. “Y’all have a large crew for such a small boat.”

Mal nodded, pointing at each figure. “Introduction time – I’m the captain, Malcolm Reynolds. This here is my first mate, Zoe. The red-head you met earlier is my mechanic.” Kalylee waved happily. “The tough guy stuffin’ his face is Jayne. Mr. Prissy over there is our Doc; his name’s Simon. That there’s his sister, River.”

John reached for a plate, but was intercepted by River, who handed him one as she scooted in closer to him. “Can I call you Grampa?” she asked, brown eyes gazing up at him hopefully. “So very old…but not as old as her.” Her eyes swept to Fred, eating quietly beside him.

“River!” Simon admonished, looking uncomfortably at the new passengers. “I’m sorry, she’s not….”

“Perfectly all right, young man,” John said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He turned a warm smile on River, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he told her, “I’d be proud if you did, _nyen ching-duh_.”

River rocked back in her chair, tucking her foot beneath her body as she leaned towards him with a laugh. “And you can call me Junebug and give me candy!” John chuckled, a throaty rumble, and Fred covertly glanced at him, her eyes crinkling.

Mal snorted, River’s eccentricities no longer a surprise, leaning back in his seat as he hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “I’ll give you two my usual welcome aboard rules,” he said, nodding at John and Fred. “No walkin’ around the ship unescorted, exceptin’ the mess, and I don’t wanna see anyone naked and cavortin’ outside their rooms. I got enough problems with my own crew, much less passengers.” Kaylee frowned at him, reaching over to pat Simon on the hand as a heavy blush colored his cheeks.

“Why, John,” Fred deadpanned, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “However will you manage?”

“Easy, m’dear,” John replied with a hint of a grin. “I’ll just send you out to fetch what I need like any good wife should.” He gallantly kissed the knuckles of her free hand as the table erupted with laughter, Kaylee and River giggling madly as even the stoic Zoe cracked a smile.

Jayne momentarily paused in spooning food into his mouth, his brow furrowing at the merriment. “What was wrong with that plan?” he asked around a mouthful of protein, looking bewildered. “Sounded mighty fine to me.”

                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know, sir,” Zoe stated, sitting stiffly in the co-pilot’s chair, her discomfort still evident even after more than a year. “He could be a mercenary.”

“His eyes were calculatin',” Mal agreed, adjusting some coordinates. “And don't tell me you didn't see that.”

Zoe nearly smiled. “At least he counted you before Jayne, sir.”

Mal chuckled, leaning back in the pilot’s chair. “But he didn't picture me first,” he said with a pointed glance at Zoe. “What about the woman?”

“I can't rightly say,” Zoe admitted, “but she's learned his ways.” A legitimate smile swept over her face at that. “Whatever they are, they’re a team.”

                                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, while the crew slept – even Mal, who had dozed off in the pilot’s seat – John and Illyria crept through the ship, sketching runes at what entrance points they could reach. “I miss salt,” John grumbled. “It was so simple.”

“You are a simple man,” Illyria stated with the twitch of a blue-shaded lip.

John frowned and swatted her playfully on the hip before pulling her close and brushing his lips across her cheek. “Very funny for a blueberry.”

“He’s coming,” a lilting voice told them, startling them both as it fell from above. “Cat’s eyes glowing in the flames, smelling of brimstone and…,” she paused before continuing with a hint of confusion, “…soap?” John and Illyria tilted their faces upwards, meeting River’s serious expression as she idly dangled her legs over the edge of the catwalk above the cargo hold. She hissed at them, miming the swipe of claws.

John felt Illyria ready to shift, and he gripped her arm, stilling her. “That’s right, River….”

“Junebug!” she interrupted.

“…Junebug,” John amended, still staring up into River’s steady gaze. “We’re tryin’ to protect you.”

River shook her head, tangled curls flying around her small face. “He‘s coming for us _all_.”

John sighed, his pained eyes sliding shut. “Yes, he is.”

“Taking Grampa was more injury than the shower curtain!” River said, jerking her chin towards Illyria. “Worse than if I forget to knock in the engine room!” She kicked her feet fretfully, her knuckles whitening as her grip tightened on the banister over her head.

“He would have come anyhow,” Illyria interrupted, blinking up at her.

River glanced down sadly at her lap, her legs stilling. “So much blood and I'll be alone again…,” she turned her head to look squarely at John, “…or put it on my hands. Poor Sam.” She sing-songed, “Sammy slaughtered Dean down dead!”

John gritted his teeth. “It didn’t happen that way! My sons were happy!”

“And tediously normal,” Illyria said with something like disappointment coloring her tone, “without the Demon to concern them.” She sniffed delicately. “I preferred the bloodshed. They were far more entertaining then, before they settled down and spat out mortal spawn.”

“You were such fun at Christmas,” John said dryly, turning towards Illyria with a fond smile. “Telling the grandkids about the _real_ Santa Claus.”

“Should they not be aware he comes down the chimney to eat their innards?” Illyria blinked questioningly. “I felt it necessary to prepare them.”

“I don’t think Sarah or Ava ever forgave you,” John admitted with a grim laugh. “Especially when it became the kids’ favorite Christmas story.”

“They forbade me from telling their children the truth about the Tooth Fairy,” Illyria admitted with a small frown. “They are lucky their children grew up with their heads still attached.”

The faint tread of running feet reverberated along the catwalk, alerting them to Simon’s approach before he burst breathlessly through the door, panting, “River! There you are!” He knelt beside her, noticing John and Fred on the floor below. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,” he apologized. “May I walk you to your quarters?” He paused before adding, “The Captain may not take it kindly if he sees you unescorted.”

“Leave Grampa and Gramma alone,” River chastised. “I am alone, but they are not.”

“River!” Simon admonished. “These people are not your grandparents.” He called down to John and Fred, “She gets confused sometimes.”

“It would take too long to say great-great-great-great-great….”

“Goodnight, River,” John called, cutting her off. “You need to get some sleep.”

                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

River came skipping into the engine room, John and Fred trailing behind her. “Kaylee!” River cried excitedly. “I’ve brought our grandparents to visit!”

River stuck her head over a leaking pipe, dangling her body precariously over Kaylee, who was tucked up under the equipment with tools spread on the floor around her. “Grampa likes the moving parts of things.” River’s eyes flicked over to Fred and she whispered dramatically, “Gramma doesn’t like much of anything except Grampa.”

Kaylee glanced up at River’s upside down expression, laughing a little as she wiped a trickle of sweat off her cheek, smears of oil evidence of similar prior movements. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Winchester! I see River’s showin’ ya around _Serenity_.”

“Call us John and Fred,” John demurred. He squatted down by where Kaylee was working, barely avoiding being kicked in the head by River as she wriggled further over the pipe to hang closer to Kaylee’s hands, keeping watch from above. John ducked under the overhang and asked curiously, “What’s wrong?”

Kaylee sighed in frustration. “It’s the gorram…,” she blushed, pausing, “um, darned compression coupling on the gravitational adapter. The binding keeps bustin’ on me and the Captain says we can’t buy new parts until next month.”

“Did you try rerouting it through the back-up air line?” John pointed at a nearby set of wires and pipes by her head. “Cools it down before it hits the binding so the pressure of the heated exhaust doesn’t burst through.”

A smile spread over Kaylee’s face as she answered excitedly, “I was thinkin’ of tryin’ that!” She began to unscrew a separate system of wires as she asked, “You a mechanic?”

“Yes, he is,” Fred answered cheerfully from by the door, smiling softly when John glanced her way.

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Sometimes I pay our way workin’ on the ships we frequent. I know a few things about machines.” He grimaced slightly before adding, “Mostly antiques.”

Fred snickered in the background, disguising it as a cough when John turned to toss a playful glare in her direction. “But I manage to keep up where I can.”

Over the intercom came Mal’s flippant tone, announcing, “I’d like to inform our passengers and crew that we’ll be landin’ in a few minutes. However, due to circumstances beyond my control, we’ll be landin’…,” a large bump echoed through the hull of the ship, scattering Kaylee’s tools around their feet. “… _now_. If you’re comin’ ashore, get ready cause I’m not gonna wait for ya.” 


	3. Chapter 3

“We’ve got business, so amuse yourselves, but be back in three hours exactly or you’ll need to find new transport,” Mal directed John and Fred. “ _Dong ma_?”

“Yes, Captain Reynolds,” John agreed, watching as Mal, Zoe, and Jayne drove off towards the edge of town. Fred stood calmly beside him, his bulk making her appear oddly delicate despite their similarity in dress.

“You could sightsee a little with River and me,” Simon offered, keeping an eye on the impatient River walking ahead. “Kaylee’s got ship-watch.” He looked a little uncomfortable as he shifted his feet and continued, “Blackash isn’t a large place, but I don’t want you to get lost.”

John shook his head, hiding a grin. “Thanks for the offer, but there’s no need for you to keep us entertained. Fred and I will take a look around.” John elbowed Fred, who smiled widely at Simon as John took her arm, leading her away towards the center of town.

Once they were several yards away from where they’d left Simon, John leaned down and asked, “So what do you think they’re really up to?” He indicated the dust cloud left behind the mule as it dwindled in size in the distance.

“If they truly belong to the Winchester line, it is undoubtedly something nefarious,” Fred told him with a gleam in her eye. “Shall we follow?”

“We have to keep an eye on the children, don’t we?” John agreed, arching an eyebrow. At Fred’s firm nod, they meandered their way towards the bar, hoping to find some unsupervised transport.

                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you think Dacheroff will be willing to deal?” Zoe questioned quietly.

Jayne snorted disdainfully. “Ya mean deal _fairly_. An’ the answer is no.” He turned to face Mal with a stubborn jut of his jaw. “Yer gorram stupid to even try.”

“I didn’t sign you up for your smarts, Jayne,” Mal replied offhandedly. “So keep quiet and look mean, like I pay you for. _Dong ma_?”

“Yes, Cap’n,” Jayne muttered sullenly. “But Vera’s guessin’ I’ll have to shoot somethin’.”

“Oh?” Mal arched an eyebrow. “Ask her to look into her crystal ball and predict where we’ll get money to buy that new GravThruster so we won’t be stuck in the black goin’ at half speed like we’ve been. Then we’ll skip talkin’ with Dacheroff and his boys and go have some tea and cookies.” His face went blank as his eyes hardened, staring at Jayne dead-on. “Now just do what I say and everything will be fine.”

Jayne sat back with a disgusted grunt as Zoe parked the mule near a run-down house several miles from town.

Inside, a large screen took up one wall, a horse race being called vainly over the din of the card tables and the burlesque music. A burly, muscled man with dirt crusted on his knuckles wound his way through the patrons of the establishment who were too drunk or in debt to care about the newcomers.

“Malcolm Reynolds,” he stated more than asked. “This way.” As they were drawn deeper into the back halls of the saloon, the soft sounds of laughing women, muffled grunts and squeals leaking from behind the closed doors, Zoe cast Mal a questionable glance and he nodded, shifting his long brick-brown coat back just enough so his gun would be within easy reach.

At last, they entered a spacious back room, covered with ratty red velvet wallpaper, moth-eaten drapes barely blocking the sunlight that speckled the broken antiquities littering the room. Behind the scarred wooden desk sat a reedy man trying too hard to be gentlemanly, with little success. He sat enthroned in an overly large desk chair, the leather cracked with stuffing oozing feebly through the tears. His hands were steepled under his chin, barely hiding the wildly crooked necktie. A couple of surly looking men were spaced sporadically throughout the room, taking what available chairs there were.

“I thought this here was supposed to be a private meetin’,” Mal commented, eyeing the slouching men in the nearby seats as his team stood before the desk, for all intents and purposes left standing like scolded schoolchildren.

“Ahh…,” the man sighed, laying his hands on the table. “You have your compatriots and I have mine. Fair, isn’t it?”

Jayne snorted quietly, muttering, “ _Fair_ ,” under his breath.

“You said you were willin’ to do some business,” Mal reminded him.

“That I am,” he agreed, leaning back in his chair. “But the price we agreed upon is no longer satisfactory.” His eyes flicked to the door as another man slunk in, his eyes downcast as he shook his head subtly.

“We made a deal,” Mal reminded him. “An’ if you don’t have the _gao_ _wan_ to redeem your word, I’ll complete my dealings elsewhere.”

The old man’s eyes hardened. “I think not, Captain Reynolds. My men have already searched your conveyance and failed to find my prize, so we’ll need to make a personal trade.” In one motion, the men pulled out their guns, aiming them steadily at Mal and the crew in the center of the room.

“Wait a moment,” Mal said calmly, holding his hands up defensively. “No need for violence. Me and mine, we’re friendly sorts.” With that, he and the crew cautiously took a step backwards, forcing the men before them to cock their weapons.

Zoe asked dryly, “What’s Plan B, sir?”

“I’ll leave you know,” Mal replied with a shrug.

A loud crash echoed down the hallway, the vague sounds from the saloon suddenly rising, with smaller thuds and smashes adding an underlying melody to the clamoring voices.

“Go,” the old man nodded, sending a man out to investigate the commotion. A second later, he came flying back through the door, groaning pitifully as he landed hard on the floor.

Startled, the rest of the men swarmed out, leaving Mal and his crew alone. With a shrug, Mal calmly announced to the room, “Plan B,” and led his team back towards the saloon and the safety of outside.

The bar and the betting tables were in utter chaos, men strewn on the floor and broken tables tipped to the side, while scantily clad dancing girls and waitresses shrieked uselessly in a huddle by the wall.

The first thing Mal noticed was their passenger, John Winchester, fighting with a man at the end of the bar, using a pool cue to beat him into submission. Mal winced when, with a quick flip of the wrist, John rammed the cue between his opponent’s legs, solidly smacking his groin as he lifted it and twisted to the side, sweeping the man’s feet from beneath him and dropping the man to the floor. Twirling the cue with the panache worthy of a flag team cheerleader, John jabbed it towards the downed man’s throat, thunking him solidly on the adam’s apple and leaving him choking for air as John turned to take on the next.

The first thing Jayne noticed was the pretty brown-haired lady passenger standing on the bar and kicking approaching men in the face. Her eyes reflected blue in the lights of the saloon, her face glowing as she shattered a pitcher over a man’s head before smashing him face first into the bar, keeping him from reaching her husband. A smitten grin crossed Jayne’s face as he muttered to Mal’s back, “I wonder if she’s the same flavor crazy as River?”

The first thing Zoe noticed were the two men sneaking up behind them and she spun with weapon drawn to hold them off. Mal and Jayne turned as one to punch them in a flashy show of synchronized fisticuffs, before whirling to fight their way to the door, Zoe watching their backs.

Fred squatted on the top of the bar, leaning over to announce to John, “They fight like Winchesters.”

John smiled, looking nostalgic, “That they do.” He let the man in his grasp meet his fist for a final time, allowing his body to slump to the floor. “Let’s get goin’ before they leave us behind.”

A minute later, John and Fred stumbled through the door, cheeks flushed with excitement, coming to a stop facing a very irate Captain Reynolds. “In. Now,” he ordered. “We have things to be said.”

                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’d purely hate to seem forbidding, but what in _tyen shiao-duh_ did you pair picture to accomplish back there?” Mal demanded, turning to face them sitting so quietly in the back of the vehicle. “You interrupted our dealings!”

Fred arched an eyebrow at John, who chuckled and replied, “We were offerin’ a distraction since you seemed to be on the bad end of your…business meeting.”

“Hardly,” Mal scoffed as Jayne simultaneously replied, “More fucked than a $2 whore.” They glared at each other before turning back in their seats.

“Keep to your own concerns,” Mal reprimanded. “Or you should pack your personals right hasty.”

“Yes, Captain,” John replied with an overly serious expression, bringing a small smile to Fred’s face.

John elbowed Fred, who chirped, “Yes, Captain!” before slouching back into the seat, her arm firmly pressed against John’s side and her slight body trembling. John rested his hand on her thigh, using small, soothing strokes as if calming a feral dog, gazing at her with a hint of concern. Zoe sat stiffly in the front seat, twisting slightly to keep a wary eye on the passengers, her spine tingling with unease.

                                                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~

Once in the safety of their quarters, all pretense of normality was cast aside. “Something wrong, Illyria? Are you OK?” John asked with concern, wrapping his arms around her waist as he approached her from behind.

Illyria pulled away, turning to face him. “Nothing is wrong.”

“You sure?” he asked with a hint of worry. “You’ve been acting…off for the past few days.” He stood where she’d left him, tucking his hands into his pockets, and studied her uneasily. “Is it the Demon? I’ll be careful – promise.”

A scornful expression planted itself firmly on Illyria’s usually placid features. “And why should I be concerned with such a creature? He cannot even exist on this plane without leeching onto a soul – like a flea on a mongrel dog! Less than a mote of dust if you humans did not exist.” She sniffed with disdain, blue eyes bright.

John laughed dryly, a touch of anger and hurt crossing his face. “Your mote of dust sure was a pain in _my_ ass. Killed my wife, hurt my sons…made our lives hell.” He glanced at her, his eyes dark and his jaw tight with tension. “Nice of you to help me keep things in perspective, I guess.”

Illyria blinked at him, her gaze unwavering, almost as if she were studying his face for a hint of something, before replying to his original question, “I am…OK. Let us sleep.”

                                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John lay propped in the corner of their broad bunk, Illyria curled against his bare chest as she idly traced her fingers over the white trails of his old scars criss-crossing his faintly tanned skin. “Still not gonna tell me?” John asked, brushing his cheek over Illyria’s tousled blue hair.

“You once said you wished to maintain some mystery. I am being compliant,” Illyria informed him, blinking to underline her point.

John laughed gently, squeezing her against his side, his hand looking even darker against the cold blue-white shading of her skin. “Well, your detailed description of eviscerating your opponent’s forces and hanging them by their own intestines until they drowned in their own filth was a little _too much_ sharing in the midst of my attempt at seduction.” He furrowed his brow, trying to look stern. “It made me doubt my manliness…not to mention _entirely_ ruined the mood.”

“I recall being eager to continue,” Illyria told him with a subtle shift of her brow.

John laughed, a deep rumble in his chest, before it was interrupted by a yawn. “That’s because, m’dear, you are a freak.”

“ _You_ are still bedding me. What does that make you?” Illyria asked, stroking her hand over his belly to soothe him into slumber.

“Insane,” John admitted as his grip tightened around her hip, shifting her body atop his own with a soft grunt. “If you’re trying to get me to sleep, that _never_ works.”

Illyria smirked, the barest tilt of her lip indicating her amusement. “I am aware…but you will inevitably fall asleep afterwards, as you are prone to do.”

“Scheming woman,” he murmured, tilting his mouth up to meet hers. “Downright evil, I tell you.”

“I am kindly giving you the opportunity to prove your manliness,” Illyria told him as he dragged his teeth along the line of her jaw. She paused before adding, “This reminds me of my battle against Kro’tha. I set my dogs upon him and their teeth actually stripped the skin from his….”

“ _Quiet_ ,” John growled against her throat as he bit down hard, his hand tangling in her hair. “I’m trying to seduce you.” His tongue lapped at the teeth marks denting her skin, a small thrill of satisfaction running through him at the successful marking.

“Maybe you need to try harder,” Illyria suggested, her voice lowering. The distinction between seductive Illyria and menacing Illyria was nearly nonexistent – fortunately, John had lived long enough to learn the difference, though it still led to the occasional awkward reaction when hunting.

John chuckled against her skin. “Oh, so we’re in one of those moods tonight, are we?” 

He flipped her, pinning her down with the weight of his body, sliding his hands along her arms until their hands met, and he restrained them against the bed. “Damn bossy Demon-Gods. We need to find a better use for that mouth of yours.” 

John trailed his lips over the bare expanse of her chest, all teeth and tongue as she arched her breasts into his mouth.

As John sharply tugged on her blue-tinted nipple with his teeth, Illyria continued with a sly quirk to her lips, “Kro’tha’s skin peeled away from the muscle like the rind of rotten fruit - one of my guards collected the scraps and made a lanyard to tie his chi’katen to his belt.”

John silenced her with a kiss, brushing his tongue against hers as he nudged her legs further open with his knee, surging inside her with one swift stroke. 

“No more talking,” he panted against her open mouth, releasing her hands in order to tangle his fingers in her hair, keeping her body from sliding along the sheets from the force of his thrusts.

“As you wish,” Illyria agreed with a rumbling purr as her eyes slid closed, hand-shaped bruises already coloring the swell of his hips from the strength of her grip on his skin.   



	4. Chapter 4

Late one night, as _Serenity_ made its slow way to New Canaan, John awoke to a dull pain in his side. The pain was, as usual, Illyria. She sat beside him in bed, poking him sharply in the ribs.

 _*pokepokepoke*_ “Wake up, John. _*poke*_ Why do mortals need to sleep so much? _*pokepoke*_ A warrior should be ready to awaken at any moment.” _*po-*_

John caught her hand before she added another bruise to the constellation now dotting his ribcage. “Illyria,” he yawned, blinking tiredly. “What do you want? We’ve had sex three times already. It’s the middle of the night. Go to sleep.” He turned towards her, curling into his pillow with eyes barely open.

She rose to her knees, eyes gleaming with the undisguised ferocity he rarely saw outside of battle conditions. The instinctive, primal side of his brain began to kick the shit out of the civilized side – which was still mostly asleep – warning it to _wake the fuck up_ or he could very well wind up something’s dinner.

John immediately sat up, fully awake, and asked, “Are you trying to kill me in my sleep again, Illyria? I thought we’d worked that out.”

Illyria rolled her eyes. “I clearly explained that killing you while you slumbered would bring me no satisfaction. You must be awake and screaming for it to be a worthwhile endeavor.”

John looked dubious. “Gee, thanks.” His brain finally registered what he’d just seen. “Did you just roll your eyes at me, Illyria? Since when did you pick up that habit?”

Illyria shot him a steadfast glare, more in her usual vein. “I wish to spar. I need to feel flesh bruising under my hands.”

“You and your sweet talk,” John muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He’s discovered early on that giving in to these whims for violence that sometimes overcame her resulted in far less damage to both his physical and emotional well-being than any delay might avoid. In John’s mind, there was no better definition of pissed off than a sulking former Demon-God who reacted to any sort of amorous advance with a punch to the face because her consort had said no to a middle-of-the-night sparring session nearly five years previously. If there was one thing he knew about his wife, it was that she could hold a grudge longer than most people kept a family pet. That lesson had been learned the hard way.

“No weapons,” John declared, buttoning his pants. “We don’t want to wake the whole ship.” He struggled to pull a T-shirt over his head. “And you fight as Fred,” he stated, his voice muffled under the fabric, “just in case.”

“Fine,” Illyria replied, looking almost excited. She shifted, an impatient grin breaking over Fred’s face. “Hurry up, slowpoke!”

“Yeah, yeah,” John grumbled, stretching until his back arched and his T-shirt rode up to flash a tan strip of belly. “I’m comin’.”

                                                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good God, woman,” John groaned against the cargo room floor. “Take it easy on the human in the room.”

Fred bounced on the balls of her feet around his prone form, taunting, “I will when one gets here.” She grinned cheekily, bouncing just a little too close, and John’s arm snapped out, grabbing her around the ankle and yanking her to the floor beside him. With a muffled squeal, Fred hit the deck, John rolling on top of her to straddle her high on her waist, his hands restraining her arms to the side of her head.

“ _Please_ tell me you give,” John pleaded, struggling to contain a yawn. He got his answer when Fred’s legs slipped under his arms and locked behind his head, bending his body back in an uncomfortable arch. “God-dammit, Fred. You’ve got legs like an octopus!”

John took a deep, calming breath, before adding, “Not that I usually mind, you realize, but I’ve had barely five hours of sleep in the past twenty-four, I’ve just had my ass handed to me by a dainty, delicate little flower of a woman – _again_ -, and it’s left me a touch grumpy.”

John tried to move, but was stuck fast, so he absently rubbed his hands along her thighs. “Plus,” he continued, “I’ve got to keep talking so my lovely wife doesn’t realize I’m about to do this….”

At that, he reached beneath his arched back and goosed her, causing her to loosen her hold on his neck as she squirmed to get away from his probing fingers. John took this opportunity to free himself and to roll to his feet as she pushed herself upright, crouching in readiness to pounce. Fred looked furious for a second, cautiously standing upright as she said acerbically, “That’s _cheating_.”

John grinned, saluting her mischievously as he kept an even distance away, guard still up. “Not if it means I win.”

“I’m thinkin’ it was a tie,” Mal commented, leaning casually on the banister over the cargo bay. John and Fred stilled, looking up as they slowly edged towards each other, backs covered, facing out. The Captain glanced at Jayne standing next to him, open-mouthed and flushed. “You reckon’ the same, Jayne?”

Jayne swallowed, muttering hoarsely, “I’ll be in my bunk,” before darting off down the passage to the crew quarters.

Mal frowned at his disappearing back-up, leaning over to stare down at the sweat-dampened Winchesters panting softly below. “Appears we may have matters to discuss.”

                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John and Fred sat across from Mal in the mess, looking steadily at the Captain as he eyed them in open assessment.

“Ya know,” Mal began, nodding at John, “I thought you might be a mercenary when you first got on my ship. But I’ve seen _shiong-tsan sha-sho_ at work. Most tend to prefer big weapons over hand-to-hand fightin’.” Mal tapped his finger against his chin as if in thought. “I’m guessin’ cause it gives them the advantage.”

Mal leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table and loosely clasping his hands in front of him. “You two know how to use a gun?”

John nodded, saying, “I do, but I’d watch out if you gave her one.” He tilted his head in Fred’s direction. “She gets overenthusiastic when it comes to shootin’.”

Fred frowned. “My aim is excellent! Don’t listen to him.”

John rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Remind me to position myself behind you then, where it’s safe.” He grinned at her. “Your aim is excellent, m’dear, but you tend not to care who might be in the way.”

“Can she shoot or not?” Mal interrupted, his tone sharp.

“Yes,” John replied, “but hand-to-hand or bladed weapons are her strengths.” He patted Fred’s hand when she looked ready to argue. “You know it’s true.” She conceded by slumping back in her seat and glaring at him.

“So you’re the gun man?” Mal asked, just to be clear.

“Mostly,” John agreed. “I can keep my own in a fight, though.”

“Good,” Mal nodded curtly. “We’re headed for an arrangement on New Canaan. Could make use of extra hands.” Mal leaned back in his chair. “You interested?”

John and Fred’s eyes met in a quick sidelong glance. “Sure,” they replied in unison. “Sounds fun.”

                                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I cannot believe you impugned my ability to adequately use projectile weaponry,” Fred stated in a definitely Illyrian tone.

“I don’t want any of my great-whatever-grandchildren to get any extra holes,” John replied. “I’m leaning towards caution.”

Illyria sniffed, “Humans are so delicate.”

“Besides,” he added, “you can kill a person with your bare hands. Why do you need a gun?” He blinked at her, arching an eyebrow when he noticed her sudden shift. “Suit up, Illyria. We’re out in the open here.”

Illyria frowned down at her body as if betrayed. With an upward tilt of her chin, she was Fred again, her face set in a rather peeved expression.

“Cheer up, Sunshine,” John smiled mischievously. “If you’re very, very good, I’ll let you take shotgun on our next hunt. Deal?” Fred didn’t look much happier, but she nodded, following him into their room.   



	5. Chapter 5

Fred pouted charmingly, amusing John more than was proper when on a job. “I wanted a gun. Why did I not get a gun? Give me _your_ gun.”

“No,” John demurred, grinning like an idiot at his peevish wife, which went well with their cover as they approached the building. “You’ve got a shiny, sharp knife strapped to each lovely leg and that’s that. I’m not going in weaponless because you want a gun.”

“And how is wearing knives under this…,” she rustled the heavy overskirt in disgust, “ream of fabric supposed to help?” Fred looked ready to combust from the unfairness of the situation. “Why weren’t _you_ put in a dress?”

“The color didn’t flatter me,” John chuckled. “’Sides, you can reach the weapons through the lovely flaps we made right…here.” John slipped his hand in her pocket, brushing his fingers over her leg teasingly.

“We’re doing business!” Fred exclaimed, swatting at John’s wandering hand. “That right there is the perfect reason to give me your gun. You have the attention span of a mayfly.”

“That’s not what you said last night,” John rumbled in her ear as he leaned in to open the door for her. “And maybe I’ll let you play with my gun later.”

Fred snorted disparagingly. “I’m lodging a protest. No euphemisms when on a job.”

The interior of Marcell & Grendel was set up like an average credit union, but was, in fact, the front for a rather successful loan sharking business that covered five planets. The second Fred stepped through the door she stiffened, placing a hand on John’s chest to still him. “Demons,” she murmured under her breath. “Several of them.”

“Your kind or mine?” John asked, leaning into her hand in the readiness to do battle.

Fred furrowed her brow, eyes scanning the room as they walked forward. “You know I can’t identify yours when they’re hiding in a shield of human skin – like trying to pick out a puff of breath in a gale.”

John frowned, his eyes darkening as he surveyed the room. “This is _bad_. If this is a demon-run business, we could have some severe security issues to concern ourselves with.” He sighed, rubbing his hand over the newly shaven skin of his cheeks. “The grandkids are gonna be in over their heads.”

“The monster huntin’ went by the wayside a long time ago, John,” Fred reminded him gently. “Which you were happy about because it meant they weren’t in any immediate danger.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But I still wish they knew enough to be _safe_.” 

                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rumor was, the Kelly boys were planning to hit this location and make off with a boatload of credits. The _Serenity_ crew was just going to get there first without anyone ever knowing. Being the rather simple folk they were, the Kelly boys would never notice that most of their purse had already disappeared and would gallantly take the blame for the missing credits without the shadow of suspicion falling on _Serenity_.

The plan was supposed to be simple. Get the manager out of his office to discuss a mortgage on a large ranch situated two planets over (Mal and Zoe), distract the guards with an arguing couple (John and Fred), pickpocket the key to the safe in the manager’s office (Mal), and get them to Jayne (shaking hands with an old friend) who would take 80% of the loan sharks’ ill-gotten gains back to the ship (hopefully), leaving the rest behind for the Kelly boys to steal.

The plan was _not_ simple. Only a fool, or an overly optimistic captain, would have called it simple and even _Jayne_ thought it was a might too complex to pull off without a hitch or two. The demons running the credit union made it a whole new level of difficulty and only John and Fred were even cognizant of the fact.

“They’re fucked,” John said with a sigh.

“So what do you suggest? Should we try to call it off before they get stuck?” Fred asked logically, a stray brown curl falling across her eyes.

“Too late,” John muttered, cursing under his breath as Mal and Zoe met up with the manager, shaking hands cordially. John tugged thoughtfully on his lower lip. “I think our argument may need to get more hands-on, draw away more of our unwanted friends.”

Fred smiled with a startling show of teeth, Illyria peeking through Fred’s sweetly innocuous demeanor. “Now that might make this outing worthwhile. We haven’t had good violence in _weeks_!”

John turned to gaze at his wife with open admiration. “That’s the Demon-God I know and love. I thought you might be goin’ soft on me.”

Fred smiled at him beatifically. “Let’s go spill some blood.”

                                                     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John Winchester and his wife were beginning to get a little carried away. Sure, he’d wanted a little distraction, but this was getting ridiculous. Even the manager was stopping to stare. Mal glanced over his shoulder to glare them into calming it down a little before the real law was called in when he saw dainty Fred rear back her arm and land a punch on John that laid the man flat out. Then she cut loose with an impressive string of Chinese, berating John’s abilities as a man while simultaneously accusing him of pleasuring a harem of paid whores and something involving the hind end of a porcupine and his nether regions. Mal was impressed, and felt a little vicarious sympathy pain in his groin just from her rather enthusiastic and heavily detailed suggestions.

John, meanwhile, wasn’t taking all of this lying down. He’d rolled with the punch and gracefully rose to his feet, cracking his jaw back into place. The man was a tough old bastard, which Mal gave its due respect, but he still might have to kick his ass later.

John prowled closer to Fred, his eyes gleaming with a hard, predatory edge that made Mal take a hesitant step forward, momentarily concerned for Fred’s safety, before he remembered it was all an act. So Mal restrained himself as John snapped out a hand, hauling Fred closer by a handful of hair tangled in his fingers, gripping the back of her skull in his massive hand.

John bared his teeth in palpable rage as he ground out, “What the fuck did you say to me, woman?”

Fred hissed like an angry cat, reaching into his holster to grab his gun and jamming it under John’s chin. Mal’s eyes widened, recalling John’s warnings about an armed Fred as John stiffened, his cheeks flushed with outrage.

At a discreet signal from the manager, the other guards stationed around the floor swelled forward, screening the scene from the curious and horrified eyes of the rest of the room as the employees herded the patrons outdoors. Mal and Zoe were pushed out along with the others, leaving John and Fred behind, surrounded by a wall of muscle.

                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Let me guess,” came a purring voice hidden from sight by the guards. Fred slipped John’s gun back into place, leaving her hands free for battle. “You must be Illyria…and her pet Winchester.” The manager pushed his way through the bodies before him, his eyes flashing beetle black. “I knew you’d pop up somewhere when you heard. Who would think it would be at my little establishment?”

John panted softly, his anger rising at the familiar demonic taunting. “We can send you back right now, if you’d like.”

“No, thank you,” the manager smirked. “Things are finally getting interesting again.”

John’s eyes flicked to the guards surrounding them. “Didn’t think you liked to mix with the lower classes. When did your kind start teaming up?”

“Times change, John. You should know that much by now, old man.” The manager glanced up at the nearest guard, reaching up to rake his nails down the skin of the man’s cheek, peeling away the flesh to reveal the shining gray scales beneath. “They’re not very bright, but they’re loyal and strong. Can rip a man in two, if I wish it.”

The manager’s eyes narrowed and with a dismissive wave, he turned and headed for the doors, dispersing some of the demon guards around John and Fred.

“You’re letting us go?” John asked doubtfully, reaching for his weapon.

“ _He’s_ been planning his return for centuries – all those long hours between Lucifer’s shower karaoke…just biding his time. _I’m_ not going to stand in his way. Plans have been made.” The guards shoved John and Fred towards the door. “I wish I knew what they were, but I’m not one of the chosen. Word is – hands off. You belong to _him_.”

The manager smiled, adding, “Tell your friends they can keep the money. I don’t need it.” As the door shut in their faces, the manager’s eyes flickered back to human and with a polite wave through the window, he locked the door behind them.   



	6. Chapter 6

They both felt it. Every time _Serenity_ landed, no matter what planet or what time of day, there was that same sense of heavy foreboding in the air. The harmless, and some not-so-harmless, creatures that still survived would cluster on the edge of sight and hearing, seeming to watch and to wait, glittering eyes and gleaming scales twinkling like a suggestion of thought but disappearing with a turn of the head. It had John on edge – Illyria remained as Illyrian as ever, though her eyes ceaselessly scanned the horizon as if looking for a sign of what was to come.

And then the reports started pouring in.

The few scattered cases of strange fires and spontaneous combustions that had drawn them to _Serenity_ in the first place erupted into headline news of men and women slaughtering their families, entire towns burning to the ground, stories of monsters with black eyes ordering and tempting and seducing with promises of power – to purge their towns of evil.

The Alliance militia could find no common thread. They deemed it space sickness, like the Reavers; sometimes, whole towns would be gone in the span of a night at just the hint of trouble, the Alliance flitting in and out like the phantoms John used to shoot with rock salt so long ago.

The collective link the Alliance couldn’t see was the Winchester DNA – a spectral taint so faded in most that only prolonged study could find the tiny sequences of chromosomes that put together in just the right way would paint the same picture. _This one was a Winchester._ That diluted strain of Hunter, watered down after so many generations away from the Earth-That-Was, that indelible mark of… _something_ …was the target painted on the back of every man, woman and child who dared to be born with a shred of it buried inside them.

There was nothing John could do – no trail to follow, no rhyme or reason to the killings. Before, it had seemed somehow related to the children – those babies left behind with special gifts that had been all but wiped out by circumstance. Now, even the children were dying – burning and bleeding along with their mothers and fathers.

It was spite – a quest for vengeance. John knew that much. Whatever plan the Demon had so long ago had been rendered null with the passage of time. This was something new and John was just as lost as the rest of the universe – if the rest of the universe took time enough to notice.

                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“John?” came Illyria’s strident voice, although softer than her usual clarion call, as if attempting to be soothing when she didn’t quite know how to be.

John tilted his cheerless gaze up to hers, the lines carved deeply around his mouth and eyes. He welcomed her presence beside him, sliding an arm around her waist to pull her closer, resting his cheek against her hair. “I don’t know what to do, Illyria.” He drew in a shaky breath. “Somehow, I thought I’d be more prepared.”

“We do what we can, John. We hunt and we fight. That is all.” She turned her head to gaze off into the distance, noting the tiny figures clustering around _Serenity_. “It is time to go back. They are waiting.” She tugged him with her, shifting to Fred as they walked side by side.

Within a few steps, John felt her shifting under his hands, and Fred and Illyria flickered back and forth, making him dizzy with the effort of focusing. “Illyria? What’s wrong?”

John grabbed her by the arm, halting her progress and she almost frowned at him, gazing at him steadily.

“ _Nothing_ ,” she said, her bold blue eyes muddying to an odd mix of brownish-blue for a moment before solidifying into Fred’s mocha gaze through sheer force of will. With her jaw tense and her body stiff beside him, Fred retained her form all the way back to the ship, only relaxing when back in the sanctuary of their quarters. Once safely ensconced, blue spilled over her slight frame in a sudden burst of color as the tan leached from her skin, and she distracted John from his concerns in the way of all females wishing to avoid answering questions.

                                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We’re settin’ course for Sihnon,” Mal announced off-handedly at dinner, John and Fred still confined in their room.

“We’re pickin’ up Inara?” Kaylee crowed happily. “It’s about time, Cap’n!” She smiled at everyone, glowing with happiness.

“S’been two months already?” Jayne grumbled around a mouthful of food, slouching possessively with his arm around his plate. “Seems like we just left her there yesterday.”

“We dropped her off just before we picked up the Winchesters almost five weeks ago, Jayne. ‘Sides, Inara’s joinin’ us for _good_ this time!” Kaylee reminded him with a smack on the arm. “It’ll be shiny to have our family together again!”

                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tranquil surface of Sihnon, where Madrassa had its home, filled the pilot’s windshield, bringing a smile to the face of Malcolm Reynolds as he headed in for a landing.

In the mess, Kaylee was trying to explain it to John and Fred. “It’s so pretty!” she exclaimed. “I never seen so much nature in one place before! The rest of the planet is all cities and populated, but it’s so serene around Madrassa.” Kaylee hummed cheerily before giggling, “Cap’n can finally be happy – him and Inara all in love and cozy. It’s like a storybook!”

River glanced up at John and Fred with a mournful expression. “We’ll be too late. First domino falls, knocking the others over one by one.” She made absent clicking sounds with her tongue, her eyes going unfocused.

John blanched, reaching out to grab Fred’s wrist, clinging to it like a lifeline. “Kaylee,” he ordered shortly, “go tell the Captain to hurry.”

Kaylee hesitated before taking one look at his face and bolting when instinct told her with a twist of her gut, _Run fast. Run far. It’s coming_. She screamed, “Cap’n! Cap’n!” down the passageways, drawing the rest of the crew from their quarters.

John pulled Fred closer, feeling the long line of her body bracing his suddenly weakening form, keeping her near – safe, at his side. “I thought it would be different. I thought I could protect them this time.”

River glanced up at him through the fall of her hair, murmuring, “She was not of our blood. You could not know she was missing. Not your fault.” River curled in on herself in the chair, tucking her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. “She was his heart’s secret. Everyone knew, but him…and you.”

She blinked at John, the subtle ferocity burning in her eyes shutting off with that slight movement of her lids, leaving her gaze suddenly open and guileless - the economy of both motion and emotion so reminiscent of Illyria that he shook his head, briefly wondering of the possibility of genetics by osmosis. John closed his eyes, counting his breaths before opening them and snapping, “She’s not past tense, yet, River. Show her more respect.”

River frowned at his sharp tone, turning woeful eyes to Fred, who shrugged, acknowledging River’s choice in terminology before rubbing a hand soothingly along John’s arm. Fred ignored the discomfort of John’s grip grinding the thin bones of her wrist together, his knuckles whitening as unacknowledged panic tightened his hold. Keeping her gaze trained on the small girl now rocking silently across from them, Fred kept up her calming strokes along John’s arm as she murmured soft reassurances, her tone never wavering even as he unwittingly crushed the bones in her hand.

                                                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Inara!” Mal yelled, his entire body thrumming with warning as he sprinted up the steps to her room. John, Fred, Jayne, and Zoe tried to keep up as he raced to her, all of them feeling the threat hanging heavily in the air. None of the other Companions had seemed to notice.

Mal burst through her door and found her room empty, the soft, scented breeze blowing the gauzy curtains in billowing folds, making shadows flicker across the walls. The neatly stacked boxes and bags indicated her readiness for departure, as did the light linen wrap thrown carelessly over the chair by the door. “Gorram _hwoon dahn_. There’s nothin’ wrong.”

Mal shook off his apprehension with a sudden straightening of his shoulders, falling back on the bed with closed eyes and sighing at the comfort of the cool sheets against his back. He heard the heavy footsteps of his compatriots stop at the door, and he commented loudly, eyes still closed as exhaustion crept over him, “Stupid _fay-fay duh pee-yen_. I’m gonna have to have words with you later.”

John’s voice came, softly commanding, “Captain Reynolds. Keep your eyes closed. _Please_. Just sit up and walk to me.” Mal’s brow furrowed, but he kept his eyes shut, the lassitude of waning panic making him lazy, when he heard Zoe’s soft intake of breath and Jayne’s muffled curse bitten off as they finally reached the door.

Mal turned his head, readying to open his eyes to see what was wrong, when Zoe’s voice came sharp and clear and smooth. “Captain. Listen to him. Come here _now_.”

Mal frowned petulantly, ready to argue, when a warm splash hit his forehead – and then another, and another. “S’it rainin’?” he asked, yawning as he rubbed his hand over his face, smearing the sticky dampness on his skin. “Someone close the window.”

Blinking tiredly, his eyes slowly focused on the tiles overhead, sharpening fuzzy shapes into the figure of his beautiful Inara pinned to the ceiling, her stomach nothing more than a large swatch of blood. He stilled, disbelief evident on his face even to those waiting in the doorway, before he screamed soundlessly as flames erupted around her.

Mal felt someone grab his arms, yanking him towards the door as he dug his feet in, unwilling to leave Inara behind. “Malcolm! _Go_!” John ordered, his bark of command somehow encouraging Mal to finally react as Jayne and Zoe bodily dragged him from the room, his struggles useless against the two of them. John herded them from the room, trusting Fred to follow behind.

Illyria shifted as the flames curled along the walls, her blue-brown hair blowing in the breeze from the open window, the swirling embers and ashes dotting her pale skin. “Illyria,” a soft hiss came from the shadows in the corner. “So nice of you to visit.”

Illyria turned to face the roiling shadows dancing thickly along the wall. “He _will_ kill you. He is stronger than you know.” She blinked, adding, “If he does not, then I will.”

The shadows laughed, sizzling cracks and snaps as of rotted wood in the flames. “ _You_ will? The powerless one?” The hissing grew more insistent as the shadows crept closer. “You are no longer a God-King, Illyria. Just a useless shell trapping what remains of your corporeal form – nothing more than dust and smoke on the inside…like me.”

A laugh burbled up through the tarry darkness pooling along the cracks in the floorboards, adding with something like gleeful surprise, “Did you think I would not _know_? You’ve been busy, Illyria. More time has passed than I realized.”

Illyria felt John loom up behind her, his hands gripping her shoulders as he yanked her backwards from the room. The darkness coalesced, coiling like a serpent about waist high, taunting through the wall of fire separating them, “I’ll see _you_ soon, Illyria. Can you _imagine_ the power? I’m so glad you made me wait!”

                                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It was a demon?” Kaylee asked in confusion, still unable to believe it even after being told the story several times.

“You didn’t see it,” Jayne muttered, focusing intently on his weapon as he cleaned it with obsessive interest. Zoe gazed at him wordlessly, wishing she had something to occupy her own hands, twisting nervously in her lap.

Simon exited the medical bay, cleaning his hands on a small rag. “I had to sedate him. He was…upset.” He cast a concerned look at the crew. “You have all been in the black too long. You can’t truly think that demons are real. _Fei hua_!”

John trained his eyes on the prim doctor, the look in them making the young man step back instinctively. “There are, and you’d better get used to it, because he’s comin’ after you all.”

Simon collapsed on the couch by Kaylee’s side, reaching out to hold her hand. River curled up on the arm beside her brother, demanding, “Again, Grampa. They have to believe.”

“God,” Kaylee said, her voice nearly squeaking. “ _Grampa_ Winchester. I ain’t never gonna get used to that idea.” She settled back against Simon’s side, muttering under her breath, “And I thought he was cute – my _grampa_.”

River explained, “Technically, it’s great-great-great-great….”

John interrupted her smoothly, saying, “It began on the Earth-That-Was….”   



	7. Chapter 7

The crew of _Serenity_ camped out in the common area outside the med bay, none of them willing to spend any time alone. Fred was curled up against him, John’s arm cocooning her safely at his side as she slept, loosely sheltered under a blanket.

Simon came up and knelt beside him, whispering, “Zoe told me that Mrs. Winchester was the last one out of the building. I think I should examine her.”

John smiled softly. “She’s tough. There’s no need.”

“But with the smoke…it could be dangerous for the baby. Even if she seems all right, I should still….” He stopped, noting John’s stricken expression. “You didn’t know?” Simon held up his hands apologetically. “I could be wrong, but it seemed so obvious. I’d estimate she’s five months along because she’s just starting to show.” Simon stood gracefully, adding, “When she wakes up, I’ll take a look, just to be sure. Until then, let her sleep.”

With a glance at the sleeping Fred, Simon left to rejoin Kaylee across the room.

John tilted his head down to study Fred as she lay in his arms, only to see Illyria’s bright blue eyes staring up at him, merely a tiny crease on her forehead indicating anything stirring beneath her usual placid visage. “The timing was less than fortuitous.”

John glanced around at the others, tugging the blanket up to cover her hair, the blue bright in the dimness of the room. “You’ve known for five months and didn’t tell me?” he asked, his eyes pinched with worry.

Illyria shook her head. “Nearly five weeks – that first afternoon on the ship.” She cocked her head, still staring evenly at him, examining him for a sign of what to expect. “It has progressed slowly for a demonic spawning – weeks too long.”

“Quick for a human, though.” John smiled and slid his hand down under the blanket to cup her belly, his heart hammering with a combination of joy and fear. “Is this the right time to have the tentacles conversation again? Personally, I’d prefer if they were evenly distributed.”

Illyria narrowed her eyes at him and he chuckled under his breath before his expression turned serious. John pressed his hand more firmly over the gentle roundness under his palm, stating, “He wants it.”

Illyria nodded, her breath hot against his skin. “With the combination of your genetic line and a pure-bred Old One, he would be unstoppable.” She paused, as if debating whether or not to continue before saying, “The might of an Old One in human form – a body designed by nature to hold the power I could not contain in this shell.”

John’s jaw tightened and he swore, “Not if we kill him first.”

                                                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How do I kill it?” Mal demanded, stalking into the dining room.

Huddling around the table, the crew looked up at him in shock, still expecting him to be asleep for another couple of hours. The drugs Simon had been pumping into him to keep him calm were strong, but their effects could not mitigate the deep gray circles under his eyes or the oddly hollow appearance of his frame. It was as if all the vitality that had made up Malcolm Reynolds was suddenly gone.

Kaylee murmured a strangled, “Cap’n!” but John quieted her with a pat on the hand, keeping the rest of the crew in their seats with a pointed look. John poured a cup of coffee, stepping over to ease it gently into the Captain’s hand before clasping his own around Mal’s on the mug, the slight trembling of Mal’s fingers beating softly against John’s palm. John hid the telltale sloshing of the black liquid in the cup with the bulk of his body, keeping Mal’s momentary weakness from the crew that needed their Captain strong and invulnerable.

“Sit, Mal.” John muttered softly. “Sit and we’ll talk.”

Mal collapsed into a seat at John’s side, his gaze glued to the patient, understanding face of John seated beside him.

“How?” Mal whispered pleadingly, his entire focus on John as if the rest of the people in the room didn’t exist. “Please tell me how.”

John picked up his own mug of coffee, his eyes almost guilty. “I’m not sure, yet. I’ve been looking since before Fred and I teamed up. I only ever found one way – and that’s with 500+ years of research.”

“What was it?” Zoe asked sharply when she saw Mal slump in defeat.

“Samuel Colt made a gun for a Hunter, carved with protective runes and phrases,” John explained. “Made bullets, too – thirteen of ‘em. It could kill _anything_ ,” John explained.

“What happened to it?” Kaylee asked, intrigued, her eyes sweeping worriedly over to the blank face of her Captain.

“My boys and I had it, but I…,” here John frowned, ducking his head to study the mug of coffee in his hand. “My son was dying. I made a deal and gave the Demon the gun and the last remaining bullet to save him.”

“That was not all you bartered for,” Fred reminded him.

“No,” John agreed. “He got my soul, too.”

Kaylee and, surprisingly, Jayne gasped. “ _Ai ya, hwai leh_! You sold your soul to the Devil?” Jayne asked in disbelief. “My momma would’ve tanned my hide.”

“You left out some of the story in your earlier telling, I think,” Simon added, glancing at John and Fred.

“Didn’t turn out all bad,” John continued. “I met Illyria and got out of Hell bonded to a former Demon-God. Gets me invited to all the best parties.” He reached out to wrap an arm around Fred’s hips, tugging her closer. “Drop the guise, m’dear. They need to adjust.”

Illyria shifted, resting an armored hand on John’s shoulder, her gaze open and challenging.

Jayne fell over the back of his chair, landing with a muffled string of curses as Zoe automatically reached for her gun, before clenching her fist and forcefully pulling away. “ _Lao tyen yeh_ ,” she grumbled. “I’m still not used to that.”

The rest of the crew settled restlessly in their seats, _almost_ completely inured to the demon in their midst after having had several hours to acclimate themselves to the idea, having had the pleasure of being introduced to Illyria during John’s earlier storytelling.

Only River waltzed over to study Illyria curiously, reaching up a hand to curl a blue strand around her fingers. “Can I paint my hair, Simon?” she asked hopefully over her shoulder, Illyria studying her as if she were an inquistive puppy nipping at her heels.

“What did the gun look like?” Mal demanded suddenly, refocusing on the room.

“Standard Colt with a pentacle on the handle, vines engraved along the barrel with some Latin – _non timebo mala_.”

“I will fear no evil,” Simon whispered.

“I’ve seen it afore,” Mal muttered. “On Bellerophon - Saffron’s would-be husband has it.” An angry gleam colored his gaze. “He owes me a good turn.”

                                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Yer wife is blue,” Jayne mumbled to John conspiratorially.

“Really?” John replied with an amused expression. He turned to glance at Illyria across the way, in the midst of what appeared to be a rather intense discussion with Simon. “You’re right. I hadn’t noticed. Maybe it was something she ate.”

“Yer wife is hot,” Jayne continued, oblivious to the sarcasm, his eyes trained lecherously on Illyria’s leather clad form.

“Um…thank you. I try to keep her buffed and polished.” John arched an eyebrow at Illyria, who was trying to fend off an overly exuberant Simon. The doctor was determined to give a full physical to the only pregnant Demon-God he had on hand, but John was laying the odds in Illyria’s favor.

“Jayne had a crush even before he found out she could snap his spine like a twig,” River explained, plopping down at John’s feet. “Now he’s in love.”

“Am not!” Jayne growled. “Jus’ find her interestin’ is all.”

John swept his eyes over the intimidating figure of his Illyria, who was holding Simon off with one arm as she frowned at the bent reflex hammer crushed in her hand. John smiled softly, his heart warm in his chest as his gaze followed the growing curves of her body, noticing the subtle changes that he’d been unable to see before. Shifting in his chair, John muffled a groan, suddenly wanting her so badly that he could feel it as a tangible thrum in his bloodstream. Illyria’s head snapped up, her eyes locking with his and gleaming ferally in the light of the room, catching wind of the change in John’s scent.

“Ya know,” Jayne unknowingly interrupted, “my momma always had a terrible fear of fire. Said it was alive in her dreams. Saw people burnin’.”

John pulled himself back into the conversation, turning to face Jayne as Kaylee said, “I had a cousin on Paquin who knew the Reavers were comin’ once. Tried to warn the townsfolk, but they thought he was crazy. He got his family outta there to visit us and the Reavers wiped out the whole town the next week.”

“You’re Winchesters,” River told them before John could speak.

John nodded in agreement. “It’s genetic. Power’s not great in everyone in the family, but a touch of it is there. Some show it more than others. It’s your…gift.”

“My Gram did tell me a nightstory ‘bout a dark man and his blue lady. Said it was a passed down of our folks all the way back to the Earth-That-Was,” Kaylee whispered, sounding an odd mix of embarrassed and hopeful. “It’s…you and Illyria, ain’t it?”

Jayne’s mouth dropped open. “My momma told that nightstory! They were huntin’ after somethin’? A….” Jayne furrowed his brow. “An answer to some kind of cipher….”

Kaylee nodded enthusiastically. “To kill the yellow-eyed dragon! I wonder if the Cap’n or Zoe heard the story?”

River looked at them with an odd tilt to her head. “Simon and I had to make up our own bedtime stories. He never liked the dragon one I told.”

“That was a _great_ story,” Jayne said enthusiastically. “Gave me my career aspersions.”

“You mean aspirations? To be a mercenary?” River asked with a grin.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jayne agreed. “I just know they did a lot of killin’.” He took a gulp of cold coffee. “ _Great_ story.”

Simon's voice rose pleadingly, rubbing his sore wrist after struggling with Illyria to get his stethoscope back. “You should let me check. The blue could be a sign of a circulation disorder!” Illyria wandered over to John, placing the stethoscope around his neck as if sharing the fruits of her successful pillaging.  
   
Simon huffed with impatience, focusing his attention on their conversation with a subdued glare in his noncompliant patient’s direction. “You’re saying we’re all related in some way,” Simon stated with curiosity. “How is that statistically possible? There are millions of people spread throughout the galaxy and we all happen to be from the same root family?”

“Actually,” Illyria interrupted, absently twisting Simon’s ex-reflex hammer into pretty shapes, “if you are using statistics, it becomes statistically more probable that those sharing a bloodline would run across each other. The bloodline would be weak, but given the centuries you have had, it has dispersed quite broadly. Approximately 82% of the people you meet daily are related to you in some fashion.”

“Illyria and I’ve been talkin’. We’ve got a theory, since we’ve seen it in smaller ways over the years, but it’s pure guesswork. It seems those with the strongest genes somehow gravitate towards each other in times of trouble, knowing somehow the time’s coming when they have to protect their own.” John shrugged, eyes focused on his hands. “Don’t know how or why – guessin’ it has somethin’ to do with the psychic…ability passed on down each side through Sammy and Ava.”

Illyria continued flatly, hand solidly placed on John’s shoulder as he paused for breath, “We saw it when it came time to leave the Earth-That-Was. Then later when settlements were about to go under, when natural disasters hit, when the War came….” She blinked, cocking her head at their sudden rapt attention.

John leaned back against Illyria, garnering strength from the solid line of her body behind his. “They – you - became harder to keep track of…spread too wide and too far. My family became just more faces in the crowd.” He unknowingly turned to rub his cheek against Illyria’s hand, seeking comfort from the one constant he knew.

River leaned forward, pressing in close to his leg. “We’re tied up now. Can’t lose us. We’re stuck.”

John closed his eyes, the creases deepening as he struggled to find the words. “That’s what scares me. I _can_.” He glanced up at Illyria, who gazed back with her usual unruffled composure, understanding sharp in her stance as he whispered to her, too faint for the others to hear, “I _will_.”

                                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What will we do when this is done?” Illyria asked, staring out into the star spangled black wrapped so intimately around _Serenity_.

John shrugged, standing closely behind her, his heart thudding against her armored back. “I’m not sure.”

“We could stay,” Illyria offered, wrapping her arms around her waist as if folding in on herself.

“We could,” John agreed, sliding his arms along hers until she was safely ensconced in his grasp. “What do you want to do?”

“As long as my Guide is content and allows me to kill things, I can adapt to any situation,” she informed him.

John chuckled lightly against her hair. “I thought adaptation was a sign of weakness.”

“It is,” Illyria replied. She paused, staring out the portal and counting his breaths against the nape of her neck before saying, “Your blood will need to adapt to what we do. Are you prepared for that?”

John remained silent for several minutes, until Illyria began to turn to see what was wrong. His arms tightened around her waist, stilling her, and John admitted softly against the shell of her ear, “No, I’m not. Not anymore.”   



	8. Chapter 8

Mal had become a pale grey shell of his former self - all that simmering anger hidden by the fragile shield of humor that kept him functioning appeared to be gone. It left an empty husk slowly filling with a new focus, one fueled by pure vengeance and retribution. John watched it from a wary distance, recognizing the signs that indicated the birth of another Hunter – of another John Winchester.

“Things will be different once the Demon is dead,” Illyria stated, placing a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder. “It was the continued quest that broke you, the absence of resolution.” She jerked her chin in Mal’s direction, the wraith-like figure of the Captain huddling around the controls of the ship as if they were the only thing holding him up. “There can be an end for him – a conclusion to his crusade.” Illyria tugged on John’s arm, forcing him to face her as she shoved him against the wall, her blue gaze boring relentlessly into his dark hazel eyes. With a resolute directness, she asked, “Can you let him have that? Give up what you have existed for so that your blood can have what you never did?”

John blanched, slowly nodding as his features crumpled, and he buried his face in her throat as he quietly sobbed, clinging to Illyria as if she were the only thing keeping him going – and she was.

                                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John’s soft voice cut through the solid darkness of their room. “Quit staring, Illyria. It’s…unsettling – even if I can’t see you.”

“You were not sleeping. I was merely waiting for you to admit to it,” she replied evenly.

The darkness settled once more around them, heavy and smothering. John shifted onto his belly, sliding his hands under his pillow to keep from reaching out for her, his eyes open but useless in the blackness as he struggled to make out the vague outline of Illyria beside him.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” he assured her, his voice gentle in the safety of the darkness.

“I know,” she said.

He shifted closer to her, not daring to touch, the long line of her body only a suggestion of coolness along his heated frame. “I thought about it a lot, at first,” he confessed humbly. “It was…tempting when things seemed too much to handle – even more so after my boys were gone.”

Illyria’s muted voice came again. “I know.”

John caught his breath, his reply puffing out in a gasp of air, his tone tinged with sorrow when he truly heard what she was saying. “You knew?”

“I knew you considered it. You had said once that the only thing that kept you from it after Mary was your sons.” Something brushed along John’s bare back and pulled away, and he couldn’t determine if it were Illyria’s fingers or wishful thinking, all proof of the physical world concealed by the cloaking dark. Her voice came to him clearly, devoid of any hint of emotion. “I knew if you had the Colt you would consider using it - freeing yourself of forced eternity – a very human reaction.” She took a shallow breath, adding, “You sought it so diligently after your firstborn had passed.”

John nodded slowly, the movement lost in the dark. He clenched his hands uselessly under his pillow, the overwhelming need to feel her skin under his palms and her flesh between his teeth more essential than ever.

“It may have worked. I do not know.”

“What would have happened to you?” John asked, his skin prickling in the open air. “I always wondered – even when I was sure that I would if given the chance.”

John heard a faint rustling and he imagined it was Illyria shrugging, before she said, “I cannot stay here without you, I am not welcome in any other dimension…I presume I would be stored once more in the Deeper Well.” Her voice paused, before continuing, “I do not have the ability to fight them off as I once did.”

“They’d kill you?” John asked in disbelief, his voice rising in anger as his nails dug into his palms.

“No,” Illyria replied calmly. “I would remain very much alive and aware for the eternity I was locked away.”

John’s hand slid over the sheets, grasping Illyria’s when he found it. He wove his fingers through hers, clasping her hand tightly and drawing it close to his face, his breath brushing hotly against the back of her hand.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” he promised against her skin. “I have everything I want.” He pulled her closer, giving in to his desires now that he’d purged his secret, needing the affirmation of Illyria’s body to ensure he’d been granted absolution.

Her voice caressed him, the tone lighter than before. “I know.”

John pulled Illyria back against his chest, burying his face in the nape of her neck as he murmured nonsensical reassurances against her throat. Illyria could barely make out what he was saying, the soft susurrations and rhythmic cadence buzzing along her skin, making her nipples tighten as the heat of his body spread along the line of her back.

John’s hand pressed over her chest, feeling for the calm drone that passed for Illyria’s heartbeat before brushing his palm over her peaked nipple and cupping the subtle heaviness of her breast. The hardness of his cock pressed firmly against the cleft of her buttocks as his hand wandered lower, splaying over the slight roundness of her belly. John cupped it protectively as his lips slid over her shoulder, his endless whispered litany of praise and promises unceasing as he slipped inside her.

John shuddered against Illyria as he finally slid home, his body tensing at the tight feel of her around his dick. He kept his hand on Illyria’s belly as he rocked against her, holding her in place as his thrusts slowly grew deeper and more urgent. As John neared climax, his words became clearer, every exhalation dropping a hint as to what he was repetitively promising against the muffling silence of her blue-hued skin.

 _…need you…_

 _…always want…_

 _...belong to me…_

 _…forever…  
_  
The last vow was branded into Illyria’s skin with the cut of sharp teeth on her shoulder as John came, pulling Illyria with him as his body molded against her back with nothing on this earth or the next able to come between them.

John buried his face in her hair, feeling the coarse blue strands brush familiarly over his cheeks as he tried to catch his breath, his grip on Illyria never lightening. With John’s breath panting harshly against the curve of her throat, Illyria reached for his free hand trapped beneath her, pulling it to her lips to whisper her own pledges against the hammering pulse of his wrist.

                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Malcolm Reynolds, is it?” came Durran Haymer’s smooth, cultured voice over the intercom. “What are you doing here? Last time you came around, you robbed me of a very unique treasure.”

“I told your man – it’s about what we had in common. Saffron, Yolanda… whatever she was called. Remember the red-head?”

“Of course I remember,” came Durran’s voice dryly. “It’s been taken care of. Again, why are you _here_?”

“Let us in and I’ll tell you,” Mal directed.

There was a long pause before the voice crackled over the intercom again. “How charming.”

The gate buzzed and Mal, John and Fred were escorted inside by an elderly gentleman dressed in uniform black. They were led to a sparsely furnished solarium with huge windows taking up a large portion of the walls on one side of the room, where Durran Haymer was sitting comfortably in a leather lounge chair, facing the wide view of the sea and sky the room offered.

“You look like hell,” Durran commented. “Life on the Rim taking its toll?” Durran’s eyes swept to John and Fred, watching them warily. “You know I have security on standby, so if you’re hoping to steal anything else, please take that into consideration.”

Mal stalked over to hover near an oblong glass case along the far wall, his hands pressed flat against the pane.

“Hands, Mr. Reynolds. My staff just cleaned that.”

“I need it,” Mal murmured roughly, his voice sounding oddly dry and scratchy. He flicked his gaze to Durran, adding, “I need to borrow it for just a little while.”

John moved carefully up beside him, staring down at the encased weapon, his jaw tight with tension. “That’s it,” he said to Fred, his tone flat.

John turned to face Durran, demanding, “How did you get this?”

“My great-great…etc. grandfather found it in Texas.” He smiled serenely at Fred who had glided up beside John. “That was on the Earth-That-Was.” Durran stood and made his way toward the middle of the room, where the Lasseter once held supremacy over his other artifacts.

“Not _where_ ,” John growled. “ _How_?”

Durran’s face smoothed over and he replied evenly, “My grandfather made a deal with the Devil.” He shrugged, and with a wry smile added, “At least, that’s how the story goes.”

John’s insistent, unwavering stare made Durran shift in his stance, urging him to continue. “He was about to lose his farm and was drinking away his last dime when an old man with black eyes sat at his table. The old man looked scared and told him he had something he needed to get rid of – if they found him with it, they’d destroy him. Grandfather was half-drunk and feeling reckless, and said that maybe if he had more money than Bill Gates he could manage it. The old man looked relieved, said, ‘It is done,’ and left the gun on the table.”

Durran shrugged again, “Next day, he hit the biggest oil strike in Texas history. It’s how my family made all of its money before we left the Earth-That-Was.” He nodded his head at the case Mal was still touching possessively. “It’s a kind of iconic family good luck charm. It’s not worth anything monetarily with the modifications made to its frame.”

“ _I need it_ ,” Mal whispered harshly.

Three sets of eyes swung to Durran’s face, boring into him with intense and infinite persistence, the weight of their judgment hanging heavily over him even as he casually walked back behind the chair he’d been sitting in just to put space between them. “Take it,” Durran said suddenly. “I understand.” His eyes brushed by them, flicking up to the ceiling over their heads. Squinting up with eyes slightly unfocused, they could make out sigils and runes woven into the carvings decorating the flat, gray expanse.

“ _I understand_ ,” Durran said again. “Please take it with you.”

                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sharp screams echoed down the passageways of _Serenity_ , disturbing the reassuring hum of machinery and the calm peacefulness of the black cloaking the ship. “He’s coming!” the shrill voice shrieked. “He’s coming! He’s coming! He’s coming!” The crew ran into the small lounge outside the med bay from where the shouts seemed to be originating, pausing at the sight of each other when they saw no one there. John and Illyria came in moments later, looking rumpled and unkempt, having been torn from their slumber by the reverberating cries.

Jayne jumped when River slammed against the window opening into the med bay, her hands bloody, leaving streaks of gore along the glass.

“He’s _coming_ ,” River panted, her chest heaving as her breath fogged the pane. Her gaze flicked from Mal to Zoe to Illyria and to John, her pupils bleeding wide from the rush of endorphins.

“He’s _here_ ,” she hissed.

John’s eyes hardened as her gaze swung to meet his and her body suddenly stiffened, falling back on the floor in convulsions, her slight frame bowing on the cold tiled floor as Simon rushed into the room, trying to hold her still.

Simon came out a few minutes later, blood streaked over his shirt. “Her hands…she was beating on the walls trying to get out,” he explained with a wince. “I sedated her. She was…hallucinating. She said she was trapped inside her own skull.” He rubbed weakly at his forehead, leaving a streak of blood along his hairline.

“Ya mean she’s fuckin’ loony again,” Jayne said. “I thought she was over that.”

“It is the influence of the Demon,” Illyria explained, her head cocking to the side as she stood at the med bay window, staring through the blood at the quiet figure of River draped across the exam bed. “His presence on this plane - his gathering of power - she is tapping into that. It is to be expected with her gifts.”

“Could be useful,” John added with a shrug. “Give us a lead. The psychic genes might finally come in handy for once.” Simon frowned at him, his dark brows lowering over his cool blue eyes.

John’s features smoothed over and he added with pronounced concern, “I’m sure River will be fine.”  



	9. Chapter 9

“We have to go to Ita Moon,” River insisted. “It’s there. Waiting, growing fat like a leech suckling on all the death around it.”

“How do you know this, _mei-mei_?” Simon began. “Why…?”

“Don’t gotta be a fancy-vest book-learned Doc, just take a look at ‘er,” Jayne snorted, looking up from cleaning his gun.

John kept his distance across the room, watching River’s frenzy grow with every passing second. The girl ran recklessly around the common room, stopping to pull at her hair as she started whimpering, soft moans of distress interspersed with sharp cries of manic glee.

Simon struggled to take her down, Zoe murmuring, “She’s getting worse.”

John’s eyes glittered darkly in the shadows as Simon sedated his sister, her struggles growing weaker as she rambled about pain and blood and fire. Illyria regarded John watchfully, her face blank of expression.

“We have no other leads,” John grumbled, his low voice taking on a sinister edge that cut through the arguing and stilled the others. “Go tell the Captain we’ve got a new course.” When Zoe hesitated, John turned his hard gaze to hers and said with a subtle undercurrent of warning, “ _Now_.”

John caught Illyria’s eye and his face wavered, softening into something familiar as he tossed a comforting smile her way. Illyria nodded curtly, still expressionless as she turned her head away to gaze out the portal into the endless sparkling expanse of the black.

                                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The crew huddled in a haphazard clump several yards from _Serenity_ , nervous without quite being able to pinpoint why except that they were going into battle with only one working weapon and one bullet to fight a creature that had been killing their bloodline with reckless and joyful abandon. Even River had been dragged from her infirmary bed, as drugged as she was, and was standing unsteadily next to Simon who was propping her up with one arm. John had deemed it unwise to leave anyone behind and vulnerable to potential attack, so had ordered that they all follow him into the dry, baking heat that made the dirt coat their sweat-dampened skin like a fine coating of cornmeal.

The scent of something like rotting fruit and spoiled meat swept in with the gusts of wind, bringing with it the nearly overwhelming smell of ash and smoke, hinting that something unpleasant was lingering over the horizon. They had seen what it was as they flew over – a town left in smoldering ruins, bodies left to bloat and to burst open as the scavengers came to dine with sharp squawks and howls – a sign of the Demon’s passing. Over the red-rock hills separating them from the worst of it, they could hear a snarling bark answered by a shrill growling scream as the creatures still feeding began to fight over whatever scraps had caught their attention.

“You gonna share your plan with us?” Mal asked sharply, his jaw tight with tension as he stared steadily at John checking his weapons. The wind blew clouds of dust across the barren shrub-laden mesa, making the crew squint their eyes against the light of the sun as they lifted hands to protect their eyes from the dirt.

John glanced up, looking at the mismatched piles of red rocks that lay scattered across the landscape, eyes flicking from one to the next as if looking for someone hiding in their shadows. “He wants me. I go first, with Illyria following, and you lot stay here.”

John slid his knife into its sheath, keeping the hand on its hilt as he turned to Mal, holding out his hand. “Give me the gun. I’m gonna need it.”

Mal hesitated, his hand wavering over the Colt tucked into his belt, and John’s voice came harsh and clear and urgent. “We talked about this. I have to do it.” John’s eyes leveled with Mal’s. “It’s _my_ hunt.”

Illyria’s eyes fixed coldly on the man standing before them, her hand snapping out to grip Mals’ wrist until he made a muffled sound of pain. She held onto his arm, stating clearly, “No. Do not give it to him. It is not John.”

The crew glanced at her in surprise, eyes widening momentarily before the dust-blown eddies made them narrow their lids protectively. “What the in gorram ‘verse are you sayin’?” Jayne grumbled. “Who is he then?”

John’s eyes closed and he sighed in obvious disappointment, shaking his head in disbelief. As he raised his face up, his eyes glittered gold in a bright splash of sunlight as he said, displeasure evident in his tone, “You Winchester bitches are just so _smart_. Catch on quick, but never quick enough.”

With a swift lunge, he grabbed the woozy River by the hair, yanking her away from Simon’s grasp and dragging her several feet away. She sprawled by his side in the dirt, the drugs rendering her docile as his huge hand kept a firm hold on her, tangled brown tresses woven around his fingers. The crew pulled their weapons, already knowing they were useless, but some habits were too ingrained to break.

John laughed mockingly, his familiar, open smile looking somehow wrong, like the planes of his face didn’t work together anymore.

“Just give me the gun. It’s all I want,” he explained patiently, flicking his honeyed gaze towards Mal.

“Well,” John chuckled, “that and the special little package Illyria is carrying, but I can come back for that later.” He shook River a little, her body writhing against the dirt as he said with gruff satisfaction, “And this one. I lost a daughter once. She’ll be good company.”

He shuddered with pleasure, his lids sliding nearly closed as he absently rubbed River’s cheek against his thigh. “The pictures in her head, all the blood and violence and torn flesh, make me want to….” John flashed a lazy, lascivious grin at the group standing horrified before him, “Never mind.”

John turned his gleeful gaze back to Mal, saying with a wheedling tone, “C’mon, just hand it over. Can’t shoot _me_. _Magic_ gun…remember? It can kill _anything_ – even an immortal Guide bound to a Demon-God, I’m sure. You wanna be responsible for killing your _Grandad_?”

Illyria ignored the intake of breath behind her as Kaylee reacted to John’s taunts, holding Jayne back with a less than gentle shove of her hand. “It was after Bellerophon,” she stated curtly. “River forced you out of hiding – otherwise we would not be here…not yet.”

John nodded at her summarization, roughly shaking the unconscious River again by the hair.

“Couldn’t fight me when he was sleeping,” John chuckled deeply. “So many cracks…so many weaknesses in this particular Winchester. That’s why he was so easy to get to before. But now?”

John beamed wickedly in Illyria’s direction, his gaze sliding over her skin and settling on her stomach as an almost tangible touch. “The biggest welcome mat laid out was because of you, Illyria. John’s worried he’s created an omnipotent monster without a soul in your belly – something that probably shouldn’t be allowed to live….” John cocked his head to the side as if listening, a beatific smile lightening his dark features. “You should hear him inside, screaming that’s not true, but I don’t quite believe him, do you?”

He kicked his toe at the dirt, a puff of dust marking the impact of his foot. “After all, he was willin’ to kill Sam over just a _suspicion_ so why not the known offspring of a full-blooded Demon – even one as _domesticated_ as you are.”

“Play your games with someone who might listen,” Illyria snapped shortly. “I ruled this dimension and spilled more blood than you could ever imagine before you even had the ability to coalesce into a puff of smoke to terrorize the puny mortals that had crawled their way from the glittering ooze that marked where the Old Ones had deigned to pass.”

Illyria’s eyes grew hard, the blue as bright and cold as the heart of winter. “You should learn how to show the proper respect to your Elders.” With a smooth twist of her body, she grabbed the Colt from Mal’s belt and shot before the sweep of her arm stilled, hitting John’s broad chest as he stood open-mouthed in shock.

John looked down at his shirt in confusion, the black stain of heart’s blood seeping over the fabric as he let the limp River fall from his hand to sprawl in the dirt at his feet. A small spark of electricity snapped from the wound, spreading over his skin as he fell to his knees, the look of shock still evident on his face.

“You shot him,” John gurgled, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “You’re willing to destroy his soul just to beat _me_?”

“This is what he desired,” Illyria replied, her blue eyes gazing stoically at the bleeding figure of her husband and Guide.

A slow smile spread over John’s dying features, those gleaming golden eyes seeking out Illyria’s icy blue ones. “You just punched your own ticket outta here. I’m impressed.” He nodded his head in her direction, a tip of the hat when his arms hung too heavily to complete the move physically. “It’s not exactly what I wanted, but I’ll take it. John entirely gone – nothing left for either Heaven or Hell….” The creature inhabiting John’s body laughed weakly as the blood fell more thickly down his shirt. “At least I’m takin’ him with me. That’s a _damn_ good trade. ”

With that, John fell face first into the dirt, his body convulsing once before lying still. Kaylee let out a muffled sob, turning to hide her face behind Jayne as Simon rushed over to drag his sister away from the body, tentatively reaching over to feel for John’s pulse before snatching his hand back warily.

“He’s dead. No pulse.”

Illyria nodded, kneeling beside John’s body and settling herself on the blood-dampened dirt, tugging his head into her lap. She absently stroked his dust-caked cheek, closing his eyes with a brush of her palm, her still, white face unmarred by any recognizable emotion.

Kaylee, her cheeks damp with tears, dropped a hand on Illyria’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t we go, Illyria? Jayne and Mal will…bring him in. We should get to the black while we can. If the Alliance shows to clean up the slaughter….”

“I am staying,” Illyria informed her stoically, her white fingers still briskly stroking John’s dusty hair. “But you must go.”

“What?” Kaylee asked, confusion evident on her face. “Cap’n don’t leave folk behind. Ever.”

Illyria tilted her face up and caught Mal’s gaze, focusing her will into every word. “You will _go_. They will be here soon and you would not survive Their coming.”

Mal’s face hardened. “Who’s comin’?”

“John was my Guide – my connection to this world, my permission to exist. Without him, They will come to collect me and I will be taken to where the other Old Ones dwell.”

“He’s not gonna heal?” Zoe asked, drawing up behind her Captain, eyes already shifting over the horizon looking for newcomers.

Illyria shook her head with a brief jerk. “When I tell you that you do not want to be here, do not doubt my word.” Illyria fixed her gaze onto Mal, her voice taking on an almost pleading tone. “Go. Your work here is done.” She blinked, her eyes boring into his as an undeniable finality defined her last words. “ _Leave the past behind you_.”

Mal nodded in sudden understanding, turning to command his crew. “Let’s get gone. Two minutes, we leave.”

“No, Cap’n!” Kaylee began to protest.

Mal silenced her with a look and they all piled onto the ship, Simon carrying his sister into the safety of _Serenity_ ’s belly. Mal stood in the cargo bay as the door to the ship slowly closed, nodding his head at the delicate figure of Illyria sitting so serenely as the wind blew curtains of dust over her and John, the sand around them stained red and Illyria’s blue hair blowing wildly in the wind.

That’s what Mal remembered whenever his dreams dragged him back to the scene – everything in bright washes of color - red and blue and black and white, all buried softly beneath a fine layer of dust. 


	10. Epilogue

River ran off ahead, laughing as her brother leaned down to kiss Kaylee in the middle of the market square. She bumped into Mal coming out of the Buddhist temple, his clothes scented heavily with incense and the cloying aroma of dying flowers. River stopped short, her face falling as she glanced up to see the sadness flicker and shutter closed behind his eyes. “A year is a long time to grieve,” she told him. “But your heart is not so heavy that it can’t be held anymore.”

Mal nodded with a small smile, flinging his arm around River’s shoulders and dragging her towards the ice cream shop down the street. “How’d you get so smart?” he asked, his tone light and teasing despite the damp glitter of his eyes.

River shrugged, her gaze tracking something far off to the left. Mal turned to see what had caught her attention, a warm, recognizable laugh faintly hitting his ears before his eyes latched onto a familiar smiling profile dusted with black stubble several yards down the road. A little girl squealed in the man’s arms, her black hair glinting a deep blue in the reflection of the sun as her brown-haired mother reached up to scrape cotton candy off her hands, the joyful family disappearing around the corner in a matter of seconds, leaving behind only the satisfied laughter of the child drifting in the air like the wind chimes.

Mal surged forward, held back only by River’s tight grip on his hand, her feet digging into the dirt as she tried to restrain him. “No!” she stated firmly. “Leave them be!”

“It’s _them_ ,” Mal spat, his eyes growing bright. “They’re supposed to be _dead_. I‘m gonna kill ‘em!”

“They did it to protect us,” River told him simply. “To keep us away from what they have to do.” River tugged at his hand, pulling him in the opposite direction. “Let them think it worked.”

River pulled harder, dragging Mal after her. “C’mon. Told Zoe and Cunning-Hat Boy we’d meet them at the mahjong tables in a half an hour after they get back from dealing with the poltergeist. Jayne’s made a bet and promised to buy us all dinner when he wins.”

River smiled up at him disarmingly, and slowly Mal gave in, his body relaxing as he loped after the girl as she waltzed happily down the street. “You never answered me, little albatross,” Mal said. “How’d you get to be so smart?”

River shrugged, skipping ahead as she pulled him along. “Guess I got all the brains in this family.” With a teasing tilt to her grin, she wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him into the noisy dimness of the betting hall. 


End file.
